


Little Hooves

by Llewcie



Series: Little Hooves Verse [1]
Category: Evening (2007), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom, James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Accidents, Buddy is trying to help, Demons, Evening Royale, Fluff, Hannibal Extended Universe, M/M, Secrets, Sketches, Strangers to Lovers, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-07-23 13:32:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 14,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16159928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llewcie/pseuds/Llewcie
Summary: Le Chiffre is a witch who has withdrawn from the world in the wake of a terrible misfortune, in which he lost his pride, his reputation, and nearly his life. His ex insists that he summon a bodyguard for protection and companionship, which he begrudgingly agrees to. But the summoning doesn't go exactly as planned, and he ends up with Buddy, a delicate, gentle demon who doesn't know anything about witchcraft, but loves getting into the whiskey.In six months, Le Chiffre can cancel the contract and requisition a new bodyguard: one perhaps more appropriate for the job. All he has to do is survive those six months.





	1. Pumpkin Spice

**Author's Note:**

> I began writing the Little Hooves verse last year for #Hannictober, and it's not been far from my mind the whole year. This year i decided to try and do a prompt a day in the same verse. Last years prompts Pumpkin Spice (ch1), Ritual (ch6), Bones (ch16), and Windswept (ch27) can be read in their original form [here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12240528/chapters/27811581) They have been altered a bit here to allow for a longer story.
> 
> Thank you to Ro for being amazing and enthusiastic for Hannibal and for all of us that make up the fandom. Thank you to DrJLecter for being a wonderful friend and writing buddy.
> 
> The calendar I'm using is the [one from last year.](http://the-winnowing-wind.tumblr.com/post/165693825229/hannictober-2017-creative-calendar) This year's calendar is [here!](http://the-winnowing-wind.tumblr.com/post/178586704204/hannictober-2018-creative-calendar)

Day 1: Pumpkin Spice

Le Chiffre was a man who needed very little. He had considered his desires, requirements, and conveniences at length over the course of several days, making a master list and then developing written arguments for and against each point; at the end of his ruminations he was able to say with confidence that security, privacy, and occasional intelligent companionship were all he required to be content. 

Privacy was provided by his isolated, well-appointed home situated deep in the French Alps, bought through a shell company that had no ties to him. Security was a personal obsession. A witch didn't live as long as he had without being an excellent study on all sorts of related disciplines, including invisibility and confounding charms, breach protection, and his last line of defense, what his niece called monsters in the closet. That was the need he was currently trying to fulfill, since the unpleasant events of the last month had left him needing a replacement, and it left him realizing, stupidly, that he needed one more thing.

He was out of nutmeg.

Le Chiffre was a man who prized and depended on the accuracy of his recollection, so the gap in his memory where the nutmeg had been used up must have belonged to his recovery, when his ex-wife, her new wife, and their daughter had come to stay with him until the bleeding of both magic and bodily fluids had trickled to a stop. He did, actually, remember some rather pungent cookies.

Four hours of work, and the mandala on the floor would be useless. He sighed, permitting himself a slight show of fatigue, since there was no one to perform for. A day's travel to the nearest town with an Auchan would render his work depleted, and he knew for a fact, since he had checked, that Auchan did not carry ground lapis lazuli in either the quality or quantity he needed to redo the mandala. It would be a week before he could replenish all of his supplies, which meant a week longer without a bodyguard.

His fingers rolled through his spice rack absently. The chives needed to be replaced. Really, he needed to replace all the c's… as his mind began filing the 'C' spices into his mental shopping list, his fingertips rolled past a jar that had never been opened. It might have come in a gift and he had absently placed it in the back. It really might be over a year old, come to think of it. But… one of the components of pumpkin pie spice was nutmeg. The bright orange label was quite cartoonish, with a small, poorly drawn slice of pumpkin pie on it. He pondered for a moment, and decided that at worst nothing would happen.

With careful fingers, he dusted the pumpkin pie spice into a gap in the wheel, completing the mandala. With an audible snap, the magic settled into the meticulous design, and Le Chiffre breathed out with relief, careful not to blow on the powders. Now he would finally be able to summon an appropriate bodyguard, and his ex-wife would stop asking him about it. All would be well.

With a deep breath, he stood strong and tall, his black cape hanging off of one shoulder, that and his suit a black void of immaculate silk wool. Le Chiffre believed in good impressions, especially when the other creature could squash one like a bug with the smallest mistake. A gentle flip of his fingers, and the magic of his request was made, politely, through the medium of the mandala. A Summons for a Protector of person and property, for the term of six months. Travel required. Languages a must. The Summons slipped through his fingers as slick as a ribbon, and the mandala closed.

For several minutes, Le Chiffre waited, perfectly still. His stillness ensured the circle would remain intact. Too many acquaintances had scuffed an outer ring in impatience and thusly lost their limbs and lives. And then a skittering sound filled his ears, a thousand needles in a hollow log, accompanied by… singing? Off-key singing, at that. Before he could identify the song, a great popping sound shook the room, rattling jars and disturbing the logs in the fire. Le Chiffre blinked, and then lifted his right hand to clear the blood from his eye. A young, red-cheeked man floated a few inches off the floor at the center of the circle, looking around curiously.

"This is not my living room," he stated matter-of-factly. He focused blearily on Le Chiffre. "Hellooooo, handsome," he crooned with a grin.

Le Chiffre stared. The demon, if this was a demon, was wearing a tidy white shirt that draped over his bare hips. His long legs were also bare, except from just above the knee he sported sleek dark fur the same color as the hair on his head. Delicate ebony split hooves hovered a few inches off the ground, but the rest of him was unflinchingly human and deeply unintimidating, without a single horn or tentacle in sight. "I think there has been a mistake," Le Chiffre began.

The demon's eyes went wide. "Don't you dare send me back! I'm prefect… perflectly caplable." The demon waved its hand. "Buddy. At your service." He sketched a little, wobbly bow in midair, which Le Chiffre returned, much more steadily, out of habit.

"Buddy," he repeated, feeling like the pumpkin pie spice had in retrospect not been such a good idea. Buddy looked at him with owlish eyes.

"Yes." He scratched his nose. "That's my name." Another pause. "And you are?"

Le Chiffre cleared his throat. "I am called Le Chiffre. And I was requiring a bodyguard, if you would be so kind as to… send them on."

Buddy attempted to look larger than he was, and only succeeded in spinning very slowly in a circle. "At your service."

Le Chiffre sighed quietly, and held up a finger to indicate that he would be right back. Buddy waved his arms wildly in what was likely supposed to be a magnanimous gesture.

On second thought, a pot of tea was probably not going to be strong enough to get Le Chiffre through the night. He went for the liquor cabinet.


	2. Ritual

Day 2: Ritual

Le Chiffre watched, increasingly thoughtful, as Buddy the heretofore uncategorized demon tested the boundaries of the mandala. He was… surprisingly calm about it. Some of the Summoned would thrash madly against the border, trying to punch through with strength. Some zinged around like bullets, and others spun inside the wall like a centrifuge of fire. If there was a break, a fissure even as small as a thread, it would be found. But Buddy… Buddy just floated and spun gently, bumping up against the barrier and using the momentum to drift to the other side of the two meter circle. He drifted upwards and then turned a lazy vertical U so that his little hooves were up in the air and his fine white shirt fell to cover his face, uncovering the rest of him. He was as slender and lovely as any faun Le Chiffre had ever had the pleasure of observing, a thick tuft of dark curly hair covering his sex and a neat little goat’s tail wagging just above the ample curve of his ass. 

Buddy seemed totally unaffected by his own nudity. He rucked his shirt out of the way with an absent hand and continued floating. All the while his eyes never left Le Chiffre's face. Not even for a moment. If his body turned, his neck would contort increasingly until his body moved the right way round, which made for some disconcerting positions. Every so often Le Chiffre would take a sip of his whiskey, and Buddy's eyes would widen, rounded in unmistakable longing, and the witch felt the unfamiliar tickle of guilt in his throat. It was rude to keep Buddy here if he wasn't going to use him. 

Finally, Le Chiffre put the glass to the side, out of site, and walked a little closer. "Why do you not fight the mandala? Is it because you have not the strength to break free?"

Buddy was upside down at the moment, his hooves kicking gently against nothing. He held his shirt with one hand so that it did not fall over his face again and frowned, blinking wide blue-grey eyes. "I was reared to be polite," he replied in a gently reproachful voice. 

It had honestly never occurred to Le Chiffre that demons might have some kind of family unit. His eyebrows raise as he considered asking for clarification, and he felt a trickle of blood drip out over his cheek. Buddy watched, fascinated, as Le Chiffre wiped it away. What a profound weakness for a witch, he knew. Now they both knew. But Buddy said nothing nor indicated that he cared in any way, just spiraling softly until he was more-or-less sideways. Le Chiffre tucked his handkerchief back in his pocket, and continued on as if nothing had happened. "You didn’t test it?"

"Fine, yes, I did," Buddy admitted. "When you went to pour yourself a glass of that delicious-looking amber liquid." He took a deep inhale. "Is it whiskey? I love whiskey."

“You aren’t giving me a lot of confidence in your ability to protect me.”

“I’m a full fledged Level Six!” he protested, and reached for his wallet. “Oh damn, I forgot my pants.” Le Chiffre squinted dubiously at him, and Buddy waved his hands. “Here, I can prove it.” He flicked a hoof out and tapped the wall of the mandala. It rang like a bell that Le Chiffre could feel vibrating in the back of his skull. Deep and sonorous, Le Chiffre had never heard anything like it. No demon he had ever worked with had the strength or the affinity to make his magic sing like that. 

“Who are you?” It was, perhaps, a rude question.

The demon smiled happily, not taking offense. "I already told you. I'm Buddy." He was upside down again. 

The music still chiming in his ears, Le Chiffre made the decision. He took a knife from his pocket, and in full view of the demon, slit open his thumb. "I would like to hire you for a six-month contract. Bodyguarding, and… whatever else you might like to offer. Standard contract: no bodily harm to me or anyone else unless I specifically request it, and you have the right to refuse so long as I am not in danger of dying through your inaction. You may take up any contract disputes with the Conjoined Panel of Demons and Witches, so long as you do not leave me in harm's way during the dispute. You may--"

"Yes." Buddy was upright now, his glossy hooves only a few inches from the floor. "I know the Standard Contract for Demonic Binding, and I agree to it. Six months. Renewable on both our agreement."

Le Chiffre was surprised, but pleased. Usually there was a good long bartering session, but Le Chiffre was not going to argue. "Agreed." He pressed his bloody thumb to the border of the mandala. Buddy flicked a sharp claw into his thumb, but did not press it into the barrier right away. Instead, he wiped his blood over his lips, and waited, his eyes steady and somehow soft.  
Le Chiffre swallowed. Technically it wasn’t any different. A twain blood seal was a twain blood seal. But this close, he could fully appreciate just how pretty Buddy was, and an unwanted blush colored his cheeks. Refusing to think about it, he pressed his thumb to his mouth, coating his lips with blood, and then pressed his lips to the barrier. Buddy didn't hesitate to do the same.  
His mouth was warm, and his blood stung like pepper on Le Chiffre's tongue. As the barrier evaporated around him, Buddy pressed closer, taking a deep, lush kiss from Le Chiffre, licking their shared blood delicately from the witch's mouth. Le Chiffre sighed softly into it, and then broke the kiss, looking down in chagrin. Buddy touched his chin, lifting it gently so that the witch was looking into his eyes.

"Hello, my lord." He grinned with fangs showing, bright and rosy-cheeked. Le Chiffre gathered himself, and then thumbed over Buddy's cheek before he dropped his hand.

He could think of a thousand things he wanted to ask, but the words that fell from his lips were, "Can I get you a tumbler of whiskey?"


	3. Moonlight

Day 3: Moonlight  
“Why are you walking all this way in the dark when I could have done this for you, my lord?”

Le Chiffre eyed the cheerful demon currently doing the backstroke through the air beside him. His long thighs flexed gracefully under chinos that Le Chiffre had, with regret, politely asked him to wear. Buddy had rolled them up to just below the knee, which exposed his slender calves, or technically his cannon and fetlock, or would it be pastern? He didn’t feel like he knew Buddy well enough, after just a few hours, to be asking him if his legs were modeled more on a horse or a goat. He swallowed his curiosity for the moment, and tried to keep an eye on the terrain rather than on Buddy’s thighs.

It was a gentle walk through the low rolling hills that made up the foothills of Le Taillefer, the mountain range in the French Alps that Le Chiffre called his home. It was dense with greenery, some of which Le Chiffre had encouraged to grow and some of which needed no encouragement. Wild gentian, thistle and arnica and toadflax bloomed from the icy, silt-rich glacial melt that fed the streams that wound through the countryside. He loved it very much.

“A witch is a part of the world they walk through. I am reminding the earth, the green above and white below that I belong to it.” He glanced up at Buddy’s curious face. “If you set hoof to the earth, you would be a part of it as well.”

“I never get entangled with the shrubbery.” His hoof kicked out as he made a slow spiral around Le Chiffre as he walked.

“Your hooves are made for it, you know.” He gestured at the cloven hoofprint of a mountain goat on a muddy flat outlined in the bright moonlight. 

“Are you ordering me to walk on the earth, my lord?”

At his tense tone, Le Chiffre stopped in surprise and turned to him. Buddy gazed back at him, his jaw flexing slightly. “Certainly not. I apologise if I came across that way. I do not control your body, or your autonomy, nor would I wish to. Protect me to the best of your ability, as we agreed.”

Buddy studied him dubiously. Le Chiffre wanted to smooth that expression from his face. “I am, however, inviting you to walk beside me, if you wish, and feel the cool earth and the growing things around you.

Buddy seemed to gaze into Le Chiffre, gauging his seriousness. When Le Chiffre didn’t laugh, or mock him, he slowly sank down, watching Le Chiffre carefully the entire time. His hooves grazed the ground, and then settled. His legs were even more graceful bearing weight, and his thigh muscles bulged distractingly. 

Buddy nodded at him, and took a step on the earth. “It tickles.” He smiled, not a goofy smile calculated to endear, but a genuine smile, a bit shy and unpracticed. Le Chiffre found his mouth wanting to return it, something that hadn’t happened for a very long time. He nodded shortly, and proceeded on.

“Come on; we’re losing moonlight.” Buddy caught up to him, and was soon tripping along beside him, dancing in circles, humming a little melody that sounded happy and sad at the same time. Slowly they made their way up the hill to the thicket in which the datura grew wild. In the moonlight the flowers were open wide. As Le Chiffre gathered the blooms in his basket, he sang a gathering song that his mother had taught him. A soft harmony joined him in a surprisingly sweet tenor voice. He and Buddy sang the song together, and it wound around the blooms, making them glow. 

When Le Chiffre picked the last of the thirteen flowers, rather than place it in his basket, he reached over and gently tucked it behind Buddy’s ear. “My mother taught me that song.”

“Mine too,” Buddy answered. He touched the wide white blossom in his hair, and even in the silver light of the full moon, Le Chiffre could see him blush with pleasure.


	4. Leaf Piles

Day 4: Leaf Piles

“Is this a fraxinus excelsior or an aesculus hippocastanum?”

Buddy bowed his head over his lap, his normally-smooth brow furrowed in intense concentration as he sat criss-cross on Le Chiffre’s studio floor with piles of neatly stacked leaves all around him, including one balanced precariously on each pastern. He waved the leaf in his hand at Le Chiffre, who was sitting at a worktable, his head bent over a book. The witch looked up, rubbing at his eyes, and glanced at the leaf. “Fraxinus excelsior has seven, and aesculus hippocastanum has five.”

“Fraxinus excelsior seven, aesculus hippocastanum five.” Buddy rifled through leaf piles, dismantling one and making a new pile, which he began stacking on his thigh. Le Chiffre pressed his lips together to stifle a smile, and turned back to his book. In truth he hadn’t absorbed the last few paragraphs, too focused on trying _not to watch_ Buddy struggle to sort from the big pile they had gathered the day before. The demon worried his bottom lip with an ivory fang as he studied each leaf carefully. After a moment he held up another leaf, his eyebrows raised in plaintive query.

“Salix capria,” Le Chiffre murmured. 

Buddy frowned. “It’s a prunus padus.”

“It’s a salix capria. The serrated edges have an upward curve.”

The demon held up a ginkgo leaf. “This is a salix capria.”

“That, my demon friend, is a ginkgo biloba.”

A sudden, frustrated wind gusted across the piles that dotted the floor, scattering everything to all four corners of the room. Buddy sat glumly in the middle of the tiny autumn windstorm, oak leaf caught in his curls, and watched the work of several hours spiral into the rafters. Le Chiffre failed this time to smother his grin. Smiling in Buddy’s presence had become, if not a common occurrence, then something that did happen more than once per day. 

Buddy caught him smiling and blushed, trying to scowl and failing. He gathered up a handful of leaves and threw them forcefully in Le Chiffre’s direction. Demon and witch watched as they fluttered gracefully to the floor. One small leaf managed to settle in Le Chiffre’s neatly combed hair. He plucked it out and waved it at Buddy.

“Salix capria.”

Buddy threw his hands in the air, got up and stomped out of the room, except his hooves made little tapping noises so he sounded more like an irritated lamb. Le Chiffre kept that to himself.


	5. Leaf Piles: Sketch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Le Chiffre was meant to be documenting the growth patterns of his kitchen garden, but when he looked down at his journal, he found he had documented quite something else.


	6. Scarves

Day 5: Scarves

Le Tallifer, located in the Dauphiné Alps, was not an impressive peak, though it did have a rating of 4.9 on Google Maps. Le Chiffre wasn’t clear on how one would contextualize such a rating, nor why it didn’t get the full five stars. Perhaps it had to do with the lack of public restrooms. It was an hour from Grenoble, the nearest decent sized town, and to get there a person would have to drive through a town called La Morte, population 121, not counting the tourists. La Morte, despite the dramatic name, was not filled with zombies unless you counted the backpackers, still drunk from the night before, who tried climbing the modest peak and learned all sorts of interesting lessons on what the body can or cannot do while dehydrated.

All this is to say that Le Chiffre did not live in an especially isolated area. There was a pleasant cafeteria in La Morte that served coffee and often fresh sandwiches. If he needed a newspaper he could acquire one without too much trouble, and he had wifi, though it was slow and cut out during rainstorms, snowstorms, heavy wind, or if the sun was shining a little too hard. 

It was overall a quiet and lovely place. He had moved inland from the Mediterranean for the security and the relative isolation that this house had afforded him, half buried in a rocky hill like a hobbit hole. But he was not accustomed to two things, and didn’t think he ever would be: the chilly damp of the mountain air, and bundling up against it.

So when he attempted to leave the house one chilly morning in his slightly less formal wool suitcoat and button-up, he was blocked at the door by an anxious demon with an armful of some kind of woven fabric, the color of oatmeal. Buddy thrust it at him with a tentative smile. “So I noticed you didn’t own a scarf, my lord, and I took it upon myself to provide one for you.” They both looked at it dubiously, and Buddy tugged on a lumpy part of the edge. “I had to look up how to knit and the wifi kept going off so I may have improvised a little.”

“A scarf?”

And it’s not like Le Chiffre had never seen one. People wore scarves in the French Riviera. They did not typically look like a fuzzy bowl of oatmeal, but then, he supposed the French Riviera was a tiny bit warmer than the Alps. As he was thinking this, Buddy’s face was becoming more and more plaintive, his eyes larger and larger until he looked like he might cry. Le Chiffre quickly summoned a desperate smile. “This is the nicest scarf anyone has ever made for me. Thank you.” He took it from Buddy’s hands. It was quite soft and was definitely going to shed on his suitcoat. He carefully hung it up, admired it for what he thought was a suitably long time, and then turned away to continue out the door.

Only to be blocked by Buddy, the scarf in his hands, looking a tiny bit sterner than before.

“Please wear the scarf, lord.”

Le Chiffre frowned. “I appreciate that you made it for me, Buddy, and it’s lovely, but I’ll be perfectly fine. I’m only walking the perimeter, after all.”

“You’ll catch cold.” Le Chiffre noted that his demon had already dropped the honorific. The kid gloves were off. He gritted his teeth.

“I'm not wearing the scarf. I won’t catch cold.”

Buddy’s face crumpled in dismay. “How can I be your bodyguard if you won't listen to me?” 

Le Chiffre’s mouth dropped open in protest. “That's not what I meant when I said I needed a bodyguard! You’re not my mother.” His voice was slightly more pitchy than he would have liked. Le Chiffre didn’t whine to anyone, and certainly not any stubborn little demonic faun currently in his employ.

Buddy turned away for a moment, composing himself. When he turned back, his eyes had a shifty look to them. “Look, I'll wear one too.” And from the air he plucked a bright red scarf and tossed it around his neck, tugging it into a jaunty knot. “And then we can both be warm.”

Le Chiffre pursed his lips, contemplating the demon. Slowly, he realized that he was not going to be able to hold back the laugh that was bubbling in his chest. He let it out, a gentle bark of pleasure, and shook his head. “It would be slightly more convincing if that weren't the only thing that you were wearing.”

His demon ducked his head, looking up through his long eyelashes, and Le Chiffre realized in that moment that Buddy knew exactly how appealing he was. “Did you want me to put on pants?” he asked in a sultry murmur.

A good witch always recognised when he had been thoroughly defeated. Still smiling with chagrin, Le Chiffre tugged the oatmeal scarf from him and tossed it around his neck. “Come on, then, my little ngatërrestar.”

Buddy beamed at him as he took the gathering basket from the stairs. “Does that mean ‘terrifying demon’?”

“Absolutely not.”

“What, then?”

Le Chiffre grinned back at him. “Learn my language and then you’ll know.”

“But I’m already learning Latin and French! Wait, was it French?”

“Definitely not French, no.”


	7. Possession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Le Chiffre gives Buddy something he has never had. A belonging.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so grateful for everyone who has paused to comment on these. I just love you all so much, and I'm so happy that Buddy is giving you as much joy as he gives me!

Day 6: Possession

Buddy was walking almost everywhere now. He walked the perimeter twice a day, pressing his cloven hooves into hollows made during rainy days on the stony dirt path in which the perimeter alarms were buried. He walked with Le Chiffre to the grove where the datura grew, and the foxglove, and to the greenhouse where the orange trees spilled their warm fruit into his hands. Each Sunday he tugged on pants and an old plaid flannel of questionable origin and followed Le Chiffre down the winding mountain road into La Morte for a café complete, usually espresso and a baguette with apricot or lingonberry jam, and a newspaper, where they would sit for hours chatting with locals and tourists alike, or basking in the quiet, occasional sun. Buddy was extra alert on those days, outside the safe and tidy boundaries of the homestead, scrutinizing every passerby for any hint of violence or untoward behaviour against his master.

And after a long morning of ingratiating himself, Le Chiffre would look tiredly up at Buddy, and they would stand and make their farewells, and begin the long trek back up the hill. His endurance was much curtailed from what it had been before, and although he didn’t talk to Buddy about it, Buddy accommodated him without comment, sliding a strong arm around his ribcage and taking his weight as they walked. Their hips bumped together pleasantly, and Le Chiffre let himself lean and absorb this small physical affection, even if he never allowed himself to indulge otherwise. Buddy never asked about his tiredness, and Le Chiffre never offered to explain the circumstances which had brought him here.

This particular Sunday, about five weeks after Buddy had come into his service, Le Chiffre stopped him on the porch. “Wait here, Buddy, if you would?” He left the demon on the porch and made his way to his bedroom, where he had hidden away a small box wrapped in silk paper and ribbon. He sighed as he looked at it, his fingertip stroking the paper absently. What was he doing, exactly? 

By the time he came back out onto the porch, none the wiser, Buddy had stripped off his clothes and was perched on the railing, one knee supporting his chin and the other leg folded under him. He was watching the door with singular focus, as if he was certain that Le Chiffre had left him on the porch to die. When Le Chiffre appeared, Buddy burst into a bright smile. “I thought you had abandoned me!” he said cheerfully, but Le Chiffre could see his eyes were wider than normal.

“Why would you think that?”

“Oh! No reason.” A small swallow, a tensing of his jaw. Le Chiffre wanted to ask, but he refrained. Buddy had respected his privacy, and he would show the same courtesy. Even if he lost sleep over it. So, swallowing his questions, he handed Buddy the box. 

“This is for you. As a thank you for your kindness and your diligence.”

Buddy paused in the process of taking it, and their fingertips rested together gently, cupping the box between them. “I don’t deserve anything. I’m just doing my job.” He was blushing fiercely, but Le Chiffre couldn’t tell whether it was from embarrassment or pleasure. When Buddy looked up at him, their eyes met. The demon’s sweet face was flooded with what was unmistakably distress. Le Chiffre felt his heart clench. How had he so thoroughly misread the situation?

“I would not force you to take anything that you do not want, Buddy.” He swallowed his dismay, searching for words. “I only wanted…” His mouth closed and opened again. “I only wanted to show you my appreciation for your work. You may of course refuse it.”

“What is it?” Buddy’s face relaxed, very slightly, as if the thought of not being forced to take something was novel to him. 

“Open it?” He searched Buddy’s face. “I would not harm you, by my oath and my blood, which you have kissed from my lips.”

That got a small but cheeky smile. “That was rather forward of me, wasn’t it?”

Le Chiffre grinned back. “Rather!” He pressed the box into Buddy’s hand, gently, and Buddy took it. He stared at the box wrapping for a long time. 

“Is this what is called a gift?”

Le Chiffre stifled his surprise. “It is. A gift becomes your possession, and no longer the giver’s, with the hopes that you might have fond memories of them when you look at it.” Now _he_ was blushing. It was a sunny afternoon outside, too. He should have waited until dusk, or maybe midnight on a moonless night. In a cave.

“My thoughts of you are all fond, lord.” Buddy said this absently, as he stared hard at the paper, as if trying to see through it, as if the words didn’t sink warmly into Le Chiffre’s chest. Finally, in a flurry fueled by embarrassment, he undid the ribbon and tugged open the paper. The box within was a dark wood, old and fine. “It’s a box!” He beamed at Le Chiffre. “I have just the thing to put into it! It’s the nicest box I’ve ever owned!”

“There’s something inside the box, Buddy,” Le Chiffre said gently.

Amazement followed this proclamation. Buddy’s mouth dropped open, and he turned back to the box. His fingers were trembling when they found the catch to open it, which he did with excruciating slowness.

Inside the box was a bracelet made from heavy gold links, resting on a bed of midnight velvet. Fastened all around it were intricate charms carved of bone and gems, cast from gold, cut from wood. A songbird carved from bone, a foxglove blossom carved from amethyst, a dainty oak leaf wound from gold and silver wire. Buddy stared at it without comprehension, his eyes tracing over each delicate ornament. After a while, he turned his gaze up to Le Chiffre. “It’s so beautiful.”

Le Chiffre could only look at Buddy, a wistful smile on his lips. “Would you consent to wearing it?”

“I would beg you for the privilege, lord.” 

Flustered, Le Chiffre turned to look at the wood slats of the front of the house. “It is yours, to do with as you like.”

He heard a jingle, and a grunt of concentration, and the soft snick of the clasp closing. When he looked back, Buddy was admiring his ankle, the dark glossy fur setting off the bright gold and charms beautifully. The bracelet nestled right in the slenderest part of his pastern, just above the thicker fur of the hoof. They both admired it silently, both overcome by some unnamable emotion. 

“This is my first possession.”

Ever? Le Chiffre wanted to ask. How has noone ever given you anything? But he swallowed all of his questions again. “I am honored.”

Buddy canted his head to the side. “Is the box mine too? Because technically _that_ would be my first possession.”

“Yes, it is also yours.”

A smile that put the sun to shame lit the demon’s face. Le Chiffre smiled helplessly back, feeling ablaze in the warmth of it.


	8. Jack o'Lantern

Day 7: Jack O’Lantern

“What exactly are we doing with all of these?” Buddy was standing in front of the farm table in the garden shed, two pumpkins balanced on his shoulders. An enormous pile sat balanced precariously behind him, every pumpkin stacked from the single vine Le Chiffre had nurtured all summer.

Le Chiffre studied the pumpkin facing him. “Yearly renewal of the wards.” He made a deep incision into the flesh of the pumpkin and began cutting in a circle around the stem. Buddy’s head nodded up and down with the rhythm of the knife. With a twist of the blade, the top popped out of the pumpkin, exposing the innards all golden orange, flecked with huge white seeds. Buddy peered down into it curiously. Le Chiffre found his head bowing close to look as well. “My mother used pumpkins, and her father before her.” He looked up into Buddy’s rapt face. “All from the same vine; they have a resonance with each other. When they decompose into the earth, the resulting ward will bind strongly until the new pumpkins are ready.”

Buddy looked vaguely relieved that he wasn’t going to be made to study Latin pumpkin declensions. “How can I help?”

“Have you ever made a jack o’lantern?”

Buddy shook his head, a small frown marring his smooth forehead. There were a great many things Buddy had never done. Le Chiffre would be pleased to change that.

“Go find us two sturdy spoons.”

Twenty-five pumpkins later, they were both covered in stringy pumpkin guts, and laughing so much Le Chiffre was wheezing with the effort of breathing. Buddy had seeds in his hair; one was sprouting, the tiny vine curling around his ear. Le Chiffre reached out for it, and Buddy leaned into him, his eyes closing as Le Chiffre’s fingers brushed his temple, and tugged the little plant off of his ear. Le Chiffre set the sprouted seed carefully in a small pot of dirt beside the table. It sank readily into the rich potting soil, looking content. Buddy leaned over to watch, smiling. “I’m naming it James.” 

Le Chiffre stood, wiping his hands on his hopelessly messy pants. Hands on his hips, he took several deep breaths, until his lungs filled all the way again. “I’m afraid I will need you to help set the ward pumpkins in place, Buddy, if that’s alright?”

“Of course, my lord,” Buddy murmured, grey eyes soft and pleased.

And so witch and demon stepped into the late afternoon sunlight, twenty-five carved jack o’lanterns floating behind them. Their little pumpkin parade made its way down to the ward boundary, where each jack o’lantern was placed with care. And in each one, Le Chiffre placed a small candle, one of twenty-five he had made the week before. He was walking painfully slow by the time they placed the last candle, his breath coming short again. Buddy placed a steady hand around his waist, and together they walked back to the center, the final jack o’lantern floating behind in the dying sun.

Le Chiffre stood in the exact center of the pumpkin ward ring, summoning up his remaining strength to finish the ward spell. Buddy held the final pumpkin still, and Le Chiffre removed the lid. He set the final candle inside, and then lifted the jack o’lantern to Buddy’s lips, and Buddy pursed his lips and blew a lick of flame. The candle caught fire, the sympathetic bond flared as well, and every candle in every jack o’lantern lit at once.

Le Chiffre sighed in relief, and Buddy laughed in delight. “You are a wonder,” he whispered, half to himself. Le Chiffre turned to look at him, perhaps intended to open his mouth and disagree, but Buddy anticipated him. “Would you like to see them from above?”

Le Chiffre looked at him in surprise. “That would be very useful.”

“Great! This is going to be awkward but don’t worry-- no one will see us.” Buddy ducked in front of him, thrust his backside into Le Chiffre’s hips, and grabbed each leg of the surprised, blushing witch, hefting him up onto his back. Le Chiffre had no time for anything but a shouted protest and a lunge to hold on to Buddy’s shoulders, and then they were spiralling up into the air.

Le Chiffre clutched hard to Buddy. “I thought perhaps you knew a mirror spell,” he murmured dryly into Buddy’s ear. The demon turned his head slightly.

“Oh, I do! Would you prefer that?” He spun in midair, making Le Chiffre’s heart pound. Buddy shifted him closer up against his body. “Don’t worry, lord,” he murmured back. “I would never let you fall.”

And spirits help him, Le Chiffre knew it was true. He tried to settle, letting his muscles relax into Buddy’s grip. His thighs were wrapped around Buddy’s hips, his chest pressed up against the demon’s back. Le Chiffre would be lying if he said that he hadn’t craved exactly this kind of closeness. The power dynamics of their working relationship, and Buddy’s clear struggle in dealing with some past trauma, precluded any sort of physical overture. But this? This could be enough. 

The view really was magnificent. From where they were, easily a hundred meters above the homestead, Le Chiffre could see Le Taillefer in the soft dusk light, its gentle peak stained pink with the last tendrils of the sunset. Beneath Buddy’s gently swaying hooves, the pumpkins with their candles were arrayed with a precision that satisfied the most analytical angles of his brain. They watched in quiet awe as the pumpkins glowed brighter, forging a ring of golden light that rivaled the last bright flash of the sun. With an audible pop, even up here, the sun vanished and the candles went out, and the wards snapped into place.

Le Chiffre didn’t breathe through it, so intently was he focused on the process of the magic. And then he tried to inhale, and realized he could not breathe at all.


	9. Curse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Brief But Graphic Description of an Asthma Attack

Day 8: Curse

Le Chiffre’s lungs were not the worst of his problems. In fact, he had been asthmatic as a child, and had used a rescue inhaler all through primary school. But when his magic came into full flower, the constrictions eased and then faded altogether. He still carried a rescue inhaler, and as recently as a few months ago, he was mindful of it. He still had it now. It was in his satchel on the table in the barn, a hundred meters beneath them and out of his reach. 

He had never mentioned his history of asthma to Buddy. He never thought that he would need to. That might have been an oversight.

He tried to draw air, breathing slowly and deeply, but the air was just too thin, his body too tired. He pushed out a pained groan into Buddy’s ear, his body starting to struggle.

Buddy turned his head, curls brushing past Le Chiffre’s nose. “Are you alright, lord?”

Le Chiffre managed to shake his head, his chest heaving fruitlessly. In a heartbeat, he was cradled in Buddy’s arms, and they were on the ground another heartbeat beyond that. Buddy sat him gently on the lawn between his thighs, propping Le Chiffre’s body against his own chest, and wrapping his arms around so that his hands were pressed against Le Chiffre’s heart. Buddy took a deep breath. “Breathe with me. Breathe with me.” He took another exaggerated breath, and Le Chiffre mirrored him with difficulty, managing a thready inhale. Buddy tucked his chin over Le Chiffre’s shoulder and spoke gently into his ear.

“Breathe. I cannot _believe_ you didn’t tell me you have asthma. Breathe. I am so angry at you right now. Breathe.” He sighed against Le Chiffre’s neck. “Breathe. Dammit dammit dammit. Breathe.”

They sat in the deepening gloaming together, Buddy alternately encouraging and cursing Le Chiffre’s wardrobe, livestock, stubbornness, and anything else he could think of. Slowly, painfully, Le Chiffre’s breathing slowed and deepened, until he could take enough of a breath to speak.

“Inhaler. Satchel. Shed.” 

“Breathe. I am screaming inside. Breathe. We are going to have such a long discussion when you get better. Breathe.” Buddy waved his hand and beckoned to the bag, and it flew into his grip. He dug into it one-handed until he came up with the inhaler, which he lifted in its sleek silver case to Le Chiffre’s lips. Le Chiffre got his hand around it and compressed it, forcing the albuterol into his constricted lungs. Another compression, another inhale. Slowly, he collapsed against Buddy’s body, breathing reedy but steadying. 

Buddy breathed with him, rib cages expanding and contracting in tandem. Now that the crisis was passing, he tucked his nose into the join of Le Chiffre’s neck and shoulder and panted damply into his skin and the collar of his shirt. His hands clutched convulsively over Le Chiffre’s heart. 

When Le Chiffre began to feel his collar stick wetly to his skin, he realized Buddy was crying.

“Hey,” he whispered roughly. His hands slid over Buddy’s and threaded their fingers together. “We’re okay, Buddy. We’re alright.” 

“I could have killed you,” Buddy whispered, anguished.

“You saved me, _i dashur_.”

“Does that mean ‘idiot.”

Le Chiffre snorted, which set off a coughing fit. Buddy held him tightly through it, the steady rise and fall of his chest a grounding rhythm. When he could speak again, he said, “No, that is _budalla_.”

“Le Chiffre?”

“Yes?” Le Chiffre turned his head until it was pressed against Buddy’s sweaty cheek.

“You are a budalla.” 

Le Chiffre wheezed a laugh. He felt as if he were teetering on the brink of something much larger than he could comprehend. As if almost dying in Buddy’s arms had broken a tether, and he was free to do something genuinely reckless. So he did. “Jean.” 

“What does that mean?”

“It’s my name. If you can insult my cow and my Italian shoes, you should know my name.”

Buddy took a deep breathe in behind him, likely in shock. He turned his face into Le Chiffre’s, and pressed a kiss against his jaw. 

“Jean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *breathes out*


	10. Bones

Day 9: Bones

"I require a human skull. Would you be so kind as to bring me one?" Let Chiffre was deep in his research, pen sketching random designs in the margins of his notes. This particular spell had been perplexing him for days. Suggestion spells were always harder when the targets were obstinate, and politicians were the worst. He rubbed his eye, wiping blood away with a resigned sigh. Contaminating a suggestion spell with his own blood would be a calamity. He was tired. 

It had been nearly a week since the asthma attack, and his rib cage still ached like it had been crushed under rocks. Buddy had been _extremely_ helpful in the interim, to the point where Le Chiffre was afraid to say anything aloud, on the off chance that Buddy would get _ideas_. He had already had to request Buddy return an entire sushi bar, complete with mystified chef, a pile of gorgeous silk pillows that Buddy had ‘found’ in a museum of Asian textiles, and (with extreme regret) a 2013 Bentley Mulsanne, which appeared in the garage when after Le Chiffre had groaned over a rough patch of asphalt on the way to Grenoble for supplies in his perfectly serviceable BMW M3.

But they still hadn’t had _the Talk_ that Buddy had promised so ominously. Le Chiffre felt like Buddy might be summoning up his own courage, and honestly the tension was getting to him. He had taken on this spell work in an effort to make himself appear busy. It was not enough to make him forget what he had done.

He had told the demon his name. 

He lay awake at night thinking about it, but he wouldn’t regret it. A name wasn’t automatically a geas, after all. It was… intimate. Like asking a lover to wear your clothes. Buddy would always be able to find him now, no matter what separated them. Even death. 

Frowning, he turned back to his work. Had his demon heard him? "Buddy?"

A clatter on his desk startled him out of his wool-gathering. A dry skull rocked back and forth, eye sockets leering at him. On top of that was one... much less dry. Quite fresh, in fact. He blinked, and looked up into Buddy's smiling face. "I didn't know which kind, so I got both just in case you needed the soft parts." He beamed at Le Chiffre, honest pleasure clear in eyes, blue in the strong light of the morning.

Le Chiffre attempted to get his voice under control before he spoke. "Ah. May I ask where you got the... fresh skull?" The very not-empty eye sockets of this one did not so much leer as scream at him.

Buddy grinned. "Fresh as a daisy, yeah? It was in the same place as the other, but don't worry," he confided. "No one was using it."

Let Chiffre looked up at his demon's delighted smile, and any concern or admonishment faded unformed into the background of his ordered mind. Instead, he smiled back. “I’m not even going to ask.”

“Best you don’t.” Buddy was floating in the air again, his little hooves crossed over his knees. He raised a hand to Le Chiffre's cheek. "This is dangerous, my lord." He put his hands on his hips, expression somber. "I've incinerated dozens of handkerchiefs with traces of your blood. It would only take one to compromise you."

"I'm aware, thank you," Le Chiffre responded dryly. "What would you have me do?"

Buddy looked away for a moment, and when he turned back, he was blushing. "Would you allow me to take care of it?"

Warily, Le Chiffre refrained from responding. The Contract clearly stated that Buddy would not harm him, but he could easily see his enthusiastic demon taking out an eye in service of the greater good. "What did you have in mind?"

Blushing even harder, Buddy leaned forward, until he was very close, and Le Chiffre could smell the hot sunshine smoke of him. A delicate tongue flicked out and licked a stripe up Le Chiffre's cheek, cleaning the blood from his skin. He startled back, but Buddy reached out a strong hand and took hold of his shoulder to keep him from stumbling backwards. "There," he whispered, still so close. "No danger of compromising you now."

Le Chiffre's eyes flicked involuntarily to the demon's sweet mouth, and immediately away. No, no danger of being compromised at all.


	11. Werewolves

Day 10: Werewolves

They had been sitting on the porch, watching the sun sink over the soft peaks. Buddy had dug out Le Chiffre’s bottle of 54 year old The Glenlivet from beneath the floorboards of his bedroom where Le Chiffre had hidden it when he first realized the depth of his demon’s love of whiskey. Alas, one by one, his best bottles had all been unearthed, in two cases quite literally. So when he saw the sleek bottle with its silver lettering and gorgeous amber coloring tucked up against Buddy’s naked hip, he just sighed and fished up his best crystal tumblers. 

Le Chiffre supposed it might as well be the day for a story, as long as they were drinking the €20.000 whiskey. 

“It happened seven months ago.”

Buddy, who had been softly sinking into the porch furniture, was suddenly alert. He turned his head to watch Le Chiffre speak, the whiskey at his fingertips momentarily forgotten.

Le Chiffre had been living in the Côte d'Azur, in the principality of Monaco. He was a witch of excellent reputation, and was called on quite often for the precision of his spellwork. A single spell could net him between €10.000 to €50.000, with more complicated work and on-site conjuration bringing considerably more. He had a wife, a yacht, several homes, and a stable of fine automobiles. He had no friends, but that never bothered him. The work was all that mattered.

So when the request came down from the werewolf court that ruled the urban community of Nice-Côte d'Azur, he cleared his calendar for a week and made a reservation at La Chèvre d’Or for a week and a day. The court had requested a protection spell for their royal den. The new alphas were pupping after thirty years of rule by the Silvereye clan, who had pupped early and often and had had their paws full rearing a generation of the werewolf equivalent of millennials. 

He should have seen it coming. He should have realized that the new clan would want to keep their new den location entirely secret. 

Buddy, who had been listening quietly up to this point, curled his knees into his body and set his chin on top. “They tried to kill you?”

Le Chiffre met his worried gaze. “Had they wanted that, I would not be here for you to steal my best whiskey.” He took a drink to emphasize the point, and his eyes closed to savor it. 

“Good things are meant to be enjoyed, Jean.” Those blue eyes were more than a little knowing, and Le Chiffre looked away, mildly flustered, trying to pick up the thread of his story.

“They did not try to kill me, no. The moment that the spell snapped into place, they attempted to turn me.” Two of the beta guards had charged him with the intent to sink a fang anywhere they could. He could not get a ward up in time, and two powerful sets of jaws closed down on him, one on his shoulder and one on his thigh. His personal ward halfway cast, he lost control of the magic, and it spiralled into a firestorm.

Both guard wolves were vaporized instantly. One had been the alpha queen’s sister. 

Since the biting wolves had both been killed, the bites could not turn him, but he had bled and bled, both fluids and magic, since the out-of-control spell had not been properly tied off. Unwilling to kill him, the wolves had dumped his ravaged body on the front step of his home in Monaco, where he continued to bleed for several hours until his wife came home and found him surrounded by a circle of burnt ground. For many days, he wavered between worlds.

And by the time he had recovered enough to speak in his defense, the pack had spread the rumor that Le Chiffre had attacked unprovoked in an attempt to murder the pregnant alpha. A witch with no friends had no chance against the unified front of the ruling alphas of a major city.

“My wife left me soon after I could walk again.” Valenka had remarried quickly, to a woman who already had a daughter, and he didn’t blame her. She had a reputation to salvage. She still visited from time to time, under cover of darkness, just to check on him. 

“Is that why you’re here?” Buddy’s eyes looked out over the deepening gloom. “To rebulld your reputation?”

Le Chiffre hummed. “No one truly believed the wolves.” He snorted into his whiskey. “But no one will cross them in public either. If I stay out of the center of things, if I am not seen, then my life goes on as usual.”

They were silent for a long time, until the coolness of the night made Le Chiffre shiver. When he turned to stand and go inside, he saw that Buddy was staring at him intently. 

“What is it, Buddy?”

The demon licked his lips. “I am glad, my lord, that you needed me. Not that I’m glad that you were bitten, or that you lost your home and your wife... “ Buddy only looked slightly shifty when he said this. “I’m just… I like being here. With you.” He looked away, tucking his curly hair behind a flaming ear. 

Le Chiffre eased himself out of his chair and walked a step to stand in front of Buddy’s chair. The demon looked up, eyes wide. Le Chiffre offered his hand, and Buddy took it, standing up so that they were facing, a warm gap between them. “I am also glad.” He tilted his head. “Perhaps not about the biting.” He leaned in, slowly, and kissed Buddy’s cheek. “But about everything else.”


	12. Hair-Raising

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told my friend Dev that I was having trouble with this one, and she writes, “I read it as HARE-raising.” So this ridiculousness is slightly her fault.

Day 11: Hair-Raising

“Buddy? Were you able to find everything at the market?” Le Chiffre had been working all day at his desk, finishing up blessing spells for an extended family of necromancers who always invited him over for Christmas Eve, which in Albania was on the 5th of January. Their littlest had just raised her first rabbit from the dead, and there would be an enormous party to celebrate in less than a week’s time. Buddy was excited about it, even though he was going as a bodyguard and had to be on the alert. He had told Le Chiffre that he had never been to a party. The witch had responded by suggesting they have his grandmother’s ratatouille to celebrate tonight, and had sent him off to the farmer’s market in La Morte.

Le Chiffre had spent the entire time he was gone wondering if it would be appropriate, considering his position as employer and master, to ask just who he needed to punish for treating his demon so poorly. It was an unfamiliar feeling, this desire for justice. Or revenge.

Buddy was trotting down the hall with a basketful of produce. “I had to go to Cannes, but yeah! No worries!” He set the basket on the counter and began unpacking, stacking each type of vegetable separately in neat little piles. Le Chiffre stood up, his joints aching, and followed the demon into the kitchen. 

“You traveled… 350 kilometers for carrots and squash?” 

Buddy tilted his head. “It was more like 261, as the goat flies.” His eyes glimmered with mischief. Le Chiffre snorted at him, and helped him unpack. In the bottom of the basket was a small package of brightly colored carrots wrapped in clear cellophane. Buddy was sorting everything into the icebox, so while his back was turned, Le Chiffre snuck a purple carrot. It snapped with a satisfying crunch, and he savored the sweetness of it as he handed the rest of the pack to Buddy.

Who was staring at him, open-mouthed. 

“What?” 

The demon pressed his lips together in a valiant but doomed attempt not to smile. “Those were a gift for Hourig.” Hourig was the little girl who’s Raising Day they were attending. Le Chiffre frowned.

“Ah. I apologise. But perhaps you can replace the one I ate?” 

Buddy was just nodding his head, utterly failing to stem the tide of giggles. Le Chiffre looked behind him, and then all the way around, but nothing explained Buddy’s loss of composure. “Please tell me why you are laughing,” he asked, a little discomposed. 

Buddy only managed the word, “Mirror!” before he bent over the counter wheezing, his tail swinging wildly from side to side.

Thoroughly disgruntled, Le Chiffre made his way to the guest bathroom down the hallway, and turned on the light. Magnificent tawny gold bunny ears sprouted from his sleek hair, rising a foot above the crown of his head. One flopped softly down; the other stood jauntily up. He twitched his eyebrows, and his new ears twitched as well. “BUDDY.”

Buddy immediately stood meekly behind him, his cheeks red with the effort of not laughing out loud. “Yes? Lord?” His voice was so strained that he had to compose himself between syllables. 

“How long is this enchantment going to last?”

“Just a few hours, lord! A day at the most.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “JEAN YOU LOOK SO CUTE!” And he was off down the corridor, his laughter ringing throughout the house. Le Chiffre had never heard him laugh like that, and it was infectious. He felt it bubbling up from inside him, this unfamiliar urge to just let his emotions loose. He was grinning, and then giggling. His ears twitched again, and that was the last strand holding his composure together.

All of the stress of the previous months seemed to pour out of him on the wave of his laughter. His chest hurt with the strength of it, and tears squeezed from both eyes. Buddy caught him in the hallway and they fell together, wheezing against each other. Every time Buddy would look up at his ears, he would lose it again. 

Finally they lay panting on the ground, exhausted and chuckling, Buddy with his curly head pressed against Le Chiffre’s chest. Le Chiffre was laying on something knobby, and reached under his body to shift it. His hand grabbed a warm tuft of fur. In shock, he pulled his hand away. “Forgive me, Buddy. I didn’t mean to tug on your tail.”

Buddy looked at him with curiosity. “You didn’t touch me, lord.”

Le Chiffre moved to get up. “Then what?” He kneeled and rose, but there was nothing on the floor beneath him. A dark thought occurred to him then, and he turned around to look at his own backside. He couldn’t quite see, so he made his way back to the bathroom mirror. 

Sure enough, a soft tawny bunny tail wagged just above his ass. Buddy was grinning behind him, staring down at it. “I quite like it, lord.”

Le Chiffre turned away from him, placing his back to the mirror. “Stop looking at my tail,” he said primly.

Buddy gave him a wide-eyed look. “Why? You’re always looking at mine!”

Le Chiffre, open-mouthed, had no answer to Buddy’s cheeky grin.


	13. Transformation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think there might be four more chapters left to this story. When i first began, there was no plot, but it's seemed to have grown one, and is pulling me in the direction of telling the rest of the story. Since I am as powerless as Le Chiffre against what Buddy wants, that's what I'm going to do!
> 
> That said, there will undoubtedly be more escapades, and I hope anyone who is taken a liking to this pairing will dash off with them and make more adventures!! Thank you so much to everyone who has left a comment on this little story-- it means more than you know.

Day 12: Transformation

The day before the party arrived without further incident, if they weren’t counting the episode with the ears and the tail, which persisted much longer than the promised few hours. Buddy was so delighted by the efficacy of the carrots that he returned to Cannes to L'Atelier  
Anthropomorphique, which was run by three siblings, the youngest of which claimed to only be a hundred and twelve, to purchase a few more varieties, and ended up flouncing around the house with a cat’s tail and ears for an entire maddingly distracting afternoon. Le Chiffre broke no fewer than three pen nibs, and had to resort to shutting Buddy out in the hall so that he could finish the commission he was working on. It was utterly beyond his disintegrating self-control to ask Buddy to put on pants. Something was going to have to give.

It would likely be his sanity, Le Chiffre thought with a sigh.

They were traveling at nighttime. Le Chiffre had wanted to take the BMW; even though he was silently wishing for the Bentley to reappear, he knew that accepting even a single lavish gift from Buddy would be a terrible error in judgement. But Buddy had insisted on flying him, along with the blessings, food, gifts, and a sizable bubble of ground-level atmosphere that would keep Le Chiffre’s lungs in good shape.

So Le Chiffre wrapped up in his thickest wool coat and socks, because even ground level was chilly in the Alps in the fall, and double checked the wards on the door before walking out into the courtyard.

He didn’t know what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t this.

Buddy was nowhere to be seen, and in his place was an enormous chocolate-ebony goat, his withers easily up to Le Chiffre’s shoulders. The goat swung its curly head over to peer through the gloom at Le Chiffre. It had bright blue eyes. They sized each other up for a long moment, Le Chiffre entirely nonplussed, until he found his voice. “I had thought perhaps you were contemplating brooms. Or possibly a carpet.”

The goat snorted, and tossed his head back to indicate the baskets and saddle, already packed and comfortable-looking. A thick blanket was draped over the pommel. 

“You’ve thought of everything,” he said warmly. Buddy held his head up and trotted in a circle, and then nosed up to Le Chiffre’s chest. Without thinking too much about it, Le Chiffre scratched between his ears, and then around the base of the ebony horns. Buddy butted his chest gently. “You are a beautiful goat. I like it better than the cat ears.” Mostly, he thought, because this didn’t make him weak in the knees. He gave Buddy’s head one more pat and then set his foot into the stirrup. He hadn’t ridden in ages, but he was fairly certain that Buddy wasn’t going to let him fall.

Once Le Chiffre was settled and had tucked the thick wool blanket around his legs and torso, he took hold of the pommel. “Don’t forget the air, darling.” He had brought his inhaler just in case, although he was feeling fine. Better than fine, to be honest. For the first time since the attack, he didn’t have a single genuine worry in his head. 

Buddy took off more like a Harrier jet than a reindeer, with an surging leap straight into the air. Le Chiffre held on for dear life, his thighs clenching around Buddy’s ribs, until they had gained some altitude. The witch took in a soft, hesitant breath, and his lungs filled easily. Slowly, his legs unclenched. The wind ruffled Buddy’s curls but didn’t touch his own hair at all. It was like flying inside a pressurized glass bubble, and the Alps stretched out below them like a rucked white carpet.

Albania was 1500 kilometers from La Morte in a car, including a ferry trip from Bari on the coast of Italy. As the goat flies, it was 300 kilometers shorter. The would soar right over Milano, sweep south of Venezia, and then follow down the western coast of the Adriatic until they reached Albania. Le Chiffre had been looking forward to the trip, thinking he could not possibly close his eyes for a moment being so high up in the air. 

But Buddy’s rocking flight soothed him, and he found himself sinking over the muscled neck. Sometime after they left the lights of Milano behind them, he was fast asleep, nestled against Buddy’s broad back.


	14. Bonfire: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so we don't quite get to the bonfire tonight! Le Chiffre needed a good talk with an old friend.

Day 13: Bonfire

Le Chiffre woke to soft morning light filtered through white lace curtains. He was deliciously warm and rested, and he burrowed deeper into the thick featherbed with a small groan of contentment. His brain slowly registered a warm body cradled in his arms, smelling of ozone and split hickory heated by a fire. Warm skin flexed under his hands. Slowly his memory filled in the gaps. They had set down in his home country while it was still dark. He had woken briefly to receive hugs and kisses from his godchildren, and then had been bundled off to bed by Hourig’s mother Hreghen. Buddy had never left his side. Even now the demon was snuggled into him, looking supremely pleased to be the little goat spoon. 

Perhaps if he didn’t move, he could have this for a few more hours. Buddy’s hooves were drawn up and tucked between Le Chiffre’s calves, and his hands covered Le Chiffre’s hands against his belly. He could just feel the beginnings of thick fur against his fingertips. 

A thunder in the hallway, and Hourig and her little brother Cohar burst into the room and into their bed, yelling bloody murder. Buddy, immediately awake, caught Cohar mid-leap and tossed him up in the air. “Good morning, little gem!” he laughed. Hourig snuggled into the warm spot between them. 

“What did you bring us, Uncle!” 

Hreghen was standing in the doorway, looking in on them with an interest that promised questions later. “Hourig, go and get your breakfast. Cohar too. Leave your _uncles_ in peace for a little while, eh?”

Le Chiffre was certain he was as red as Hourig’s hair. Buddy appeared totally unconcerned, as if he woke in Le Chiffre’s bed every morning. He rolled over to beam at Hreghen. “We don’t mind them,” he assured her. 

“So long as they don’t jump on anything important,” Le Chiffre groused. It seemed as if his snug lie-in was cancelled, at least for the moment. He sat up and stretched, running a hand down his soft cotton shirt to erase the wrinkles. “What’s for breakfast?”

Hreghan was smiling at him. He found himself smiling back nervously. Oh, but he was in for it later.

Breakfast was hot flaky burek pastries, eggs and tomatoes, and sweet strong black coffee. Hreghan’s husband Andri had gone down to the river to set up the bonfire. Family and friends were coming in from all over Europe, some from much farther than Jean and Buddy had come. So with the bustle and chaos, it didn’t take long for Hreghan to ask Buddy to help with the set-up, and so corner Le Chiffre alone in the kitchen.

“So.” Her eyebrows told a greater story than her words. Le Chiffre and she had been friends for a great deal longer than most people are friends for. 

“We’re not…” He sighed. “It would be unethical for me to begin a physical relationship with him when it is possible that he might feel he cannot refuse me.”

“That one doesn’t strike me as a demon that often does things he doesn’t want to.” Her smile turned wry. “An unusual choice for such a straight-laced man as you.”

“Reggie, you’ve no idea. My world is entirely different with him in it.”

“You are smiling so much, I hardly recognised your face.”

“Don’t tell that to Valenka.”

“Don’t tell her yourself. She’ll be here tonight. Does she know?”

Le Chiffre shook his head. “There is nothing to know, other than I am…” 

“Smitten?” she offered. He buried his face in his coffee. 

They finished their cups in amiable quiet. When she brought the pot to refill them, Le Chiffre frowned, pensive. “I do think…” He looked around him to make certain they were alone, and then cast a privacy bubble just to be certain. “I do think that he has been, if not abused, then mistreated. When he first came to me, he wouldn’t set his hooves to the ground without a promise from me that i would not retaliate.”

“Did he say anything about it?”

Le Chiffre looked out the window, watching the demon cavorting with the children as they raised flower buntings all over the yard. Buddy turned and met his eyes, and gave him a gentle smile before turning back to the work. Le Chiffre knew without a doubt, that privacy bubble or not, the demon could hear them speak. “No. And I didn’t ask. If he wants to tell me, he will.”

Hreghan pursed her lips. “I’ve never seen you like this, Jean.” When he didn’t answer, she rubbed the lip of her coffee cup thoughtfully. “You know I’m going to suggest something that’s so obvious, a child could see it.”

He sat back in his chair. “Yes. I know.” He sighed. “I know.”

She reached out and squeezed his hand. “Whatever you decide, we are here. You are always welcome to stay as long as you need.” 

Outside, Buddy danced in the autumn chill, the leaves spinning around him in a cyclone of color. Le Chiffre thought perhaps it was time to join him.


	15. Masquerade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid that not only have i killed a few of my readers with sweetness, I myself am also now dead and will be writing the rest of this from beyond the grave.

Day 14: Masquerade

Buddy vanished late in the afternoon with a contingent of giggling teenagers, after Hreghan spent a half an hour convincing him that Jean would be just fine, that their security was top notch, and that if he didn’t stop worrying, she would be offended. Finally, with a longing backwards glance, he allowed himself to be led away for “preparations” just as the band was coming in, bringing heavily decorated drums and horns and an accordian. Andri brought out his clarinet and went over to help the setup, and Le Chiffre found himself at loose ends.

He went back into the kitchen for coffee, and allowed himself to be drawn in to the bustle of the making of a feast. More than one small child had gotten into Buddy’s carrots, and bunny ears were poking out from every possible hiding place as they played the most ineffective game of hide-and-seek that Le Chiffre had ever witnessed. 

As dark fell, he found his way to his room to change into traditional white, a color he didn’t often wear but which always brought him warm feelings of family and belonging. He adjusted the heavily-embroidered red vest that had belonged to his father, and tugged on the soft black boots made for gripping the ground to make quick turns in the dance. Gazing at himself in the long mirror, he imagined Buddy standing behind him, wide blue eyes admiring. Shaking his head at himself, he gave one final tug to the vest and went to go find his demon.

The celebration was already in full swing, but Buddy was still nowhere in sight. He spotted Valenka, who gave him a happy wave. She made her way over, carrying a bottle of beer for him. “So what’s this I hear about my godchildren having two uncles, now?”

Le Chiffre looked down at his boots. He was so not ready for this conversation. “You likely know more about it than I do.”

She hummed at him archly. “I highly doubt that. What’s he like?”

“He’s nothing I ever wanted for myself.” He looked at her ruefully. “And somehow everything I needed.”

She patted his shoulder. “None of us know what we need until it’s in our hands, I think.”

The drums beat a roll meant to get everyone’s attention. A space was cleared around the bonfire, and Hreghan walked over in her sweeping white skirts. “Tonight we celebrate the raising of the dead. Hourig has completed her first raising, in a long tradition from parent to child for many generations.” She grinned. “No one who knows her is surprised it was a rabbit.” Le Chiffre grinned at his rabbit-loving niece, who was peeking out from behind the fire. She was the only one of the children under twelve that wasn’t sporting bunny ears and a tail. There would be a carrot saved for her after the ritual telling of the story. Hreghan looked at her daughter. “Ready?”

The girl nodded solemnly, and then took her mother’s place. Andri started a slow trill with his clarinet, just audible over the crackle of the fire.

“I was looking after the sheep in the lower pasture,” she began, her voice confident and loud. Le Chiffre bloomed with pride for her. “When all of the sudden came a bevy of rabbits!”

With no warning at all, every single child with bunny ears came springing out from behind the crowd, dashing madly across the lawn. Hourig jumped up and down in her excitement. “They were running from a TERRIBLE BEAST!”

From behind the children came a great roar, and suddenly Buddy plunged into their midst. He was wearing a wolf’s skin like a cape, the mighty crown and fangs of the beast over his curls, and fuzzy knitted paws on his hands and hooves. The bunny children screamed and giggled as they scampered to get away, Buddy on all fours after them. Hourig shooed all the rabbits away, crying “Run! Run!” But the smallest, who Le Chiffre could see was Cohar with his ears flopping over his eyes so that he couldn’t see, lagged behind, Buddy right behind him. 

Hourig made a loud gasping sound. “Run, lepur!” And Cohar did, in his excited haste veering towards the fire. Buddy gently guided him back onto the lawn while still growling and baying in what Jean thought was supposed to be an intimidating manner. And then, with an enormous leap into the air, Buddy tackled Cohar and brought him flat to the ground. The entire gathering gasped, and then was silent. 

The only sound was the crackle of the fire and Cohar’s giggles from under Buddy. Jean heard his demon shush the boy, and whisper something in his ear. Finally, he fell quiet. Hourig took the chance. She watched in silence as Buddy picked up Cohar in his arms, and then she shouted, “NO!”

Buddy snapped at her, then gently set Cohar down and scampered off into the dark. Hourig stood over the fallen bunny, and with tenderness entirely unlike her, she kneeled and put her hands on his chest. “Come back!”

Cohar didn’t move. She frowned at her brother, and then whispered something in his ear. He sat up so fast his forehead hit her chin, and he fell over again, clutching his brow. She rolled her eyes and dragged him upright. “The rabbit’s lifespark has returned!”

The gathering erupted in cheers and hollers, and the music into a happy jig. All the bunny children ran to circle Hourig and Cohar, and they all danced wildly, ears and tails spinning in the firelight. 

Jean felt arms around him, and a chin on his shoulder. “How did I do?”

His hands settled on Buddy’s hands. “Fierce, as always, my darling.”

Buddy turned him so that they were facing. He was flushed with happiness, his skin glowing. “That’s not the first time you’ve called me that.”

“Perhaps it’s the first time I’ve not been afraid to.”

They gazed at each other, the party fading into the night behind them. “No more afraid than I.” Buddy leaned in and nuzzled him, and Jean’s hands slid against his bare skin to settle against the small of his back. The demon leaned up then, and looked Jean in the eye. “I release you from our Contract.”

Jean’s lungs constricted in his chest in the sudden terror that he wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready to let the demon go, but that was what was required of him. Buddy steadied him until his breathing came easily, and then he replied, voice as steady as he could make it, “I am released.”

The magic popped like a soap bubble around them into a thousand firefly lights, and with it all geas disintegrated. Jean bowed his head, unable to look at the demon he had come to love, “And what will you do, now that you are free?”

“This.” Buddy’s hand came up under his chin, and he tipped his head and pressed their lips together in a trembling kiss.


	16. Bonfire Part 2

Day 15: Bonfire Pt 2

Jean had never been a man of demonstrative affection. Always intensely private, and in public rigidly controlled, his cold demeanour, he had always believed, had kept his loved ones safe. 

Right now, he could not even recall _meeting_ that man, much less being him. 

For just one moment, his brain had stalled, not a thought in his head but the heat and wet of Buddy’s mouth on his. Buddy took total advantage, nudging in deeper and parting his lips against Jean’s lips, until they were kissing open-mouthed and slow, savoring the bone-deep satisfaction of being as close as possible while children were present.

Oh gods, children were present. “Have to stop,” he groaned into Buddy’s mouth, and Buddy nipped him. Jean’s hands were in totally inappropriate places, going without conscious permission to that thick, curly tail. He reluctantly unhanded his demon, kissing his top lip and then his bottom lip, touching tongue tips. 

Buddy sank his head onto Jean’s shoulder. “Jean you feel so good,” he whispered.

Jean tipped their foreheads together. “Please, mercy, my demon. We still have two days of celebrations.” He kissed Buddy’s mouth again, because he could now, as much as he wanted. Buddy’s tail wagged against his hands, which were still inappropriately low on his hips. 

“And two nights of sharing a warm feather bed.” His teeth flashed in a bright grin. 

Jean groaned again as they parted. He felt a privacy bubble stretch and give as they separated. At least someone was thinking. He turned and caught Hreghan’s eye; she winked at him and gave him a thumbs up. He smiled helplessly back at her.

Buddy disappeared again, this time dragged away to change into dancing clothes. The ease in which he moved among Jean’s family gave the witch heart palpitations. He found his way to the drinks table and was handed a cold bottle of Andri’s homemade cider by a beaming Anjali, Valenka’s wife. “You might need to cool down after that exercise.”

“I don’t think one bottle is going to be sufficient.”

“Good thing we have a river to hand,” she grinned at him. 

He would have replied, except that for the second time that night, he was rendered utterly speechless. Buddy was being led out by one of the teenage girls, his hooves jingling softly in the grass. Someone had lent him a richly embroidered belt that sat neatly on his slender waist, its heavily beaded strands swinging around Buddy’s bare thighs. A soft white shirt, unbuttoned and open, was tucked into the belt. On his arms and his pasterns were bright gold bracelets that glimmered in the fireight, and on the crown of his curls rested an elaborately beaded headband. He looked up at Jean through heavy eyelashes, and then spun around, making the stranded belt sail upwards and bare him to the hips. 

Jean heard the dance start up around them, but had eyes only for Buddy, who was shimmying his way. “Do you like it?”

He swallowed, trying to wet his lips. “I see you still managed not to have to put on pants.”

Buddy scoffed. “Pants. So overrated.” He turned a circle, his tail swishing to the beat of the music. “I may never wear pants again.” He leaned back against Jean, and the witch slid his hands over the soft linen of the shirt.

Jean nipped his ear. “You are beautiful.” Buddy wiggled his ass in pleasure, and Jean set his teeth in a little harder. “Behave, little demon.”

“Mmm. You can punish me later.” Laughing at Jean’s poleaxed expression, Buddy pulled him unresisting into the dance.

They danced far into the morning. Pyromancers kept the fire going and spun their firechains to the music of their footsteps. Andri put down his clarinet and taught Buddy all the dances of his fathers and their fathers before them, all the way back to the Illyrian magicians who danced on the shores of the Adriatic to welcome in the mariners’ catch. He was a quick study, his hooves quite a bit faster on the turn than the men’s soft boots. He spun and cavorted around the flames, the beaded strands of his belt whipping against Jean’s legs until they were too close, until Buddy’s hips pressed into Jean’s and they moved together, kissing as their feet kept to the familiar steps.

And when the revelers began to drop away, some to tuck their little bunnies into bed, others to sleep off impressive amounts of cider, Jean and Buddy made their way to their feather bed and barely had the energy to undress before tumbling in together. Jean fell asleep with a warm armful of sweaty Buddy, who nuzzled into him with soft noises of contented happiness, and followed soon after.


	17. Sparks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter after this. Thank you so much for taking the journey with me.

Day 16: Sparks

The second day was the formal ceremony to acknowledge Hourig as a practicing necromancer, so that she could begin her training. She was dressed in traditional plain white, not a single stitch of embroidery anywhere, not even on her socks. As she grew in the craft, she would be embroidering her own clothing along with the work of her parents and other teachers. This way, their work would be intertwined, all separate stitches making the whole, just as a witch was a combination of themselves and others. Once she was of age, she would be allowed to wear her grandmother’s and her mother’s clothing. 

Jean and Buddy stood up with her immediate family and solemnly vowed to protect and teach her, and she brightly asked Buddy if he would be teaching her to fly, to which he replied, sagely, that she needed to ask her parents later. He nudged Jean’s hip. “Cheeky thing. I like her.”

“Hmm. She reminds me of someone,” Jean replied with an arch look. Buddy grinned innocently at him, squeezing their twined hands.

After the ceremony, they opened all of the public blessings, saving the family blessings for later. Some of the blessings were practical, with charms to keep the rain off people’s heads and turn aside mosquitoes. Some were beautiful, full of golden butterflies that settled in everyone’s hair. Jean’s were of the growing kind, and Andri teasingly lamented his neatly cut lawn as herbs and flowers bloomed everywhere at their feet. By the time the ceremony was over, the evening meal was ready. Buddy kneeled next to Jean’s chair and munched contentedly on a dish of spicy lamb and rice. But when it came time for the dancing, he turned his face plaintively to Jean’s. 

“Jean? Jean.”

“Yes, my darling?” Buddy blushed with pleasure at the love-name. He pressed his chin to Jean’s thigh.

“I’ve forgotten my… dancing hooves in our room. Will you help me go and look for them?”

Jean turned bright red, his mouth falling open as he attempted to stumble out a reply. Anjali, who was walking by, grinned happily at both of them. “Neither of you are fooling anyone.” She leaned closer. “Hreghan soundproofed your room earlier, just in case that’s pertinent information.”

“Oh my gods,” murmured Jean, unable to keep in his horrified laughter. Buddy stood up and hugged Anjali, and then sought out Hreghan to hug her as well. 

“Bless this house and all who are in it,” he whispered to her. And then he took Jean’s hand and dragged him into the house.

The benefit of a soundproofed room went both ways; they couldn’t hear the children, most of them still with bunny ears, running screaming down the hallway. Inside the room was a soft, insulated nest of white, smelling of clean linen and a tinge of firesmoke. Jean insured the door was locked, twice, and then tugged off his shirt, tossing it behind him. Buddy stood watching him with wide eyes, and a nervous swallow bobbed in his throat.

Jean closed the distance between them, putting his hands gently on his demon’s flanks. They closed their eyes together, basking in each other, here together and alone. Jean nosed Buddy’s chin. “Nothing you don’t want. Anything that you do,” he whispered. Buddy shivered under his hands, and pressed in to kiss him.

Their kissing was luxurious, wet and searching in the quiet dark. Buddy sank down onto the featherbed, urging Jean on top of him. Jean pulled back slightly to remove his pants, boots, and socks, and Buddy hooked two fingers in his briefs and tugged them down as well, balancing Jean as he stepped out of them. The warm scent of their skin surrounded them as they pressed back together, naked and urgent for the feel of each other.

Buddy held Jean’s head as he kissed him, speaking between kisses. “What if I want everything?”

Jean smiled at him, happiness like a forge in his chest. “You already have it.”

Buddy pressed his lips together, and his eyes welled up with tears. “I love you, Jean.”

“I love you.” Jean kissed his mouth, kissed his cheek and his nose, kissed the tears from his skin. 

They didn’t stop kissing the whole night long, even after Buddy bowed his back and tested the limits of even Hreghan’s silencing spell, spending down Jean’s throat with a howl that sent sparks billowing against the ceiling. Jean shuddered and groaned his way to orgasm against Buddy’s curly tail, gripping his demon so tightly that he left blossoming marks in the shape of his hands on his ribs. Jean kissed between his shoulder blades, and panted against the nape of his neck, as Buddy kissed the palms of his hands.

Even in sleep, they were pressed against each other, lips against skin, unwilling to separate.


	18. First Frost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has read and kudos and commented!! You all are a treasure.

Day 17: First Frost

Breakfast in the early morning was full of joyful chatter, as adults and a few earlybird older children rushed to polish off the last of the feasting food before the sun rose. Jean and Buddy didn’t emerge until the sun was greying out the dawn horizon, and they fed each other the last of the burek to a chorus of cheers. Even Buddy was red-cheeked by the attention, while Jean had to sit because all of the blood was rushing to his face. 

Hourig looked concerned. “Uncle Jean, why are you so red?,” she asked, to another round of general hilarity.

Buddy rescued him. “We had sex for the first time last night, Hourig,” he told her. She contemplated Jean for a moment, and then patted him on the shoulder. 

“That took forever. I’m glad Buddy waited for you.” 

Jean sputtered through his morning coffee. “So am I,” he managed.

Andri had tears in his eyes. “Mother’s child, that one,” he said proudly.

By the time everyone stopped laughing, and all of the food was finished and the grounds and house scoured clean, the sun was just peeking over the hills to the east. Goodbyes were hugged out with more tears, invisibility charms were passed around to those who were traversing the country in unusual ways, and slowly the house emptied out. 

Buddy was in the yard by the river giving Cohar and Hourig goat rides through the orchard trees. They both clung to his back, their arms around his neck as he trotted back and forth under the apple boughs. Jean and Andri and Hreghan watched them as they nursed new coffee, just made as the sun rose. Hreghan leaned in and patted Jean’s hand. “Happiness suits you, my dear friend.”

Jean cleared his throat, forcing a swallow past the knot of emotion in it. “You have been very patient with me, both of you, in my time of recovery.”

Andri put his hand over Hreghan’s. “Jean, do you remember that time when we were both children, and it was past time for me to present my talent?”

Jean tilted his head, looking down at his coffee. Andri had not presented until he was nearly 19, unheard of in their community. Jean had gotten into more than his fair share of scrapes defending his friend. He nodded, and Hreghan patted his hand. Buddy walked up, back to bare skin and curls just on the top of his head and at his groin, holding Cohar in the crook of one arm and clasping Hourig hand with the other. They were glowing with the brisk morning chill. Hourig handed Hreghan an apple. It was wrinkled on the top.

Hreghan sighed. “Frostbitten, eh? Time for the last applesauce and pies of the season.” 

Jean looked up at Buddy, who was looking down softly at him. His demon. “It’s time for us to go home.”

The trip home seemed quite a bit faster than the trip there. Jean rested more than slept, watching the Adriatic flow under Buddy’s hooves. The flex of his demon’s muscle underneath him was as soothing as the rocking of a boat, and he found himself scratching through that thick curly fur without threat of consequence. He also told Buddy more than once how much he loved him, but he may or may not have whispered it loud enough for Buddy to hear.

Home was as they had left it, more or less. The first frost had taken the last of the datura and the delicate blossoms of the wolfsbane. Night fell just a few minutes faster, and the last of the summer birds were winging it to warmer lands. The start of winter normally made Jean a bit melancholy. But walking in through the front door, Jean took Buddy’s hand and kissed his palm. 

“My home is your home, for as long as you desire it to be.”

Buddy smiled at him. “Is this another contract?”

“It could be.” Jean was blushing again. He felt he would never return to his normal color. Buddy kissed him, and kissed him again. Everything else could wait.


End file.
